The Aesthetic Chocolatier
by Athena Pallas-Parthenos
Summary: The line between 'genius' and 'madman' is a scarce one, as well as one that Willy Wonka often crosses. Set seven years after the contest, this is the terrifying tale of Wonka's obsession with his youth, his beauty, and Veruca Salt.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **This prologue involves a minor kissing an adult. It is not meant to be perverted, but simply under the idea of Nabokov's _Lolita._ If you are offended by such things, PLEASE TURN BACK NOW. Or, skip to Chapter 1, in which Veruca is 20.

**PROLOGUE: MARCH 1998**

"Give me one good reason not to sue you, Wonka," snarled Mr.Salt less than a week after the winners had visited the factory, "My daughter suffered several bruises and she was greatly humiliated. That, and I believe I experienced some whiplash upon the fall."

"Hm. I see," responded Wonka matter-of-factly, "However, since this is involving Veruca, why don't we ask her how she feels. Besides, what good would my money have on you, as you are equally as rich as I. Money, money, money. Why is it the rich who always want more, and the poor who are comfortable where they stand? It would make more sense for the Gloops, Beaureguards, or Teevees to sue me, as at least they have something to gain from it."

Little Veruca, who was obliviously sucking on a lollipop over in the corner, giggled.

"Veruca. Mind yourself," Mr.Salt scolded.

The twelve year old stuck out her tongue and went back to her lollipop and magazine with a picture of The Spice Girls on the cover. She prided herself on being a mini 'Posh Spice', and thus took time to, (in between licks of her candy), take some red lipstick from her purse and carelessly paint her lips with it.

"Well, Veruca," said Wonka, who stood-up and made his way over to the little girl, and kneeling down her level, "Do you want your Daddy to make it so that there is no more Wonka chocolate ever because he takes all my money?"

"No. That would be quite foolish. Daddy has a lot of money, but he doesn't make decent chocolate." She grinned and went back to her magazine, "Daddy. I want a little black dress and very high heels like Posh Spice."

"Veruca, that is inappropriate for a girl your age, and you forget that Mr.Wonka sent you down a garbage chute and you got hurt." It was obvious he was trying hard not to yell at his daughter, who seemed to have phased him out yet again, in regards to her magazine.

"Mr.Salt, you have a brilliant daughter here. It is a good trait to listen to only what one wishes to hear." Wonka smiled down at Veruca, who allowed those almond-shaped blue eyes of hers' to meet with his for a moment. The candy inventor let his mind wander for a moment to just how radiant she would be in just a few years. How old was she? Obviously closing in on her teen years, but not quite there yet. Unless, of course, she looked young for her age. She could have been as young as eleven or as old as fourteen. That was not too young to understand 'feelings', right? Perhaps even some little boys from her school had kissed her, or dragged her to engage in a petting session behind the pop machine. That would mean she had experience, and thus he alone would not be guilty for her corruption.

"Do not try to flatter me, Wonka," Mr.Salt's voice was raising, as was the red in his face, "You could have seriously injured my daughter, all because you wished to teach her a lesson! That is the parent's job!"

"Daddy, I don't want you to yell at Mr.Wonka. He gave me a lot of candy to make-up for it, and I didn't get hurt." By that point, Wonka had retreated back to his seat behind the desk. In order to prove she was siding with Wonka on this one, Veruca walked over to him and plopped down upon his lap, "You can shut-up. You're going to ruin all the candy!"

Wonka's whole body went tense as the girl sat down upon his lap. He tried his best to find a 'normal' way to react, and did so by placing his left hand around her waist so that she would not fall off. He was certain that Veruca could feel his heart pounding, and it seemed that she chose to play right into it, as she moved up a bit on his lap. Horror of horrors! He moved a bit in his seat, trying to calm himself down. If only the horrid Mr.Salt could go away for one moment. Or even better, a complete disaster would take place in which most the world would be abolished, and he could sit there with Veruca in his arms; no judgment.

"You will not speak to me that way, Veruca! You have become very disobedient as of late! You are lucky that I have not taken the belt to you!" Mr.Salt looked like he was just about ready to strike the child right there, when his cell-phone rang, "Pardon me a moment, Wonka." And he got up and walked outside of the room.

"He hits you with a belt?" That was Wonka's first question once the man was out of the room. He was attempting to keep it as platonic as possible. He was only concerned about the child, that was all! Nothing more! He kept repeating it in his mind that such concerns were all that he was feeling.

"No. Just threatens it," she shrugged and turned her head to the side to look up at him, "Sometimes I dislike him and I want to leave home. He gives me a lot, but is very strict with me. I wanted to write Charlie Bucket a letter, but when Daddy found that out, he tore-up the address list. I saw Charlie the other day, though, and I kissed him. I don't think he likes me all that much, though. But also, then his mother came outside and offered us some hot chocolate. He told me you offered him the factory, but he decided not to take it. I told him that was dumb. Then he said it was because you wanted him never to see his family again because you don't like families, and I told him I knew what you meant. He said it was because my family is mean sometimes, and I told him that my parents yell a lot. Then Charlie and I snogged behind a snow bank."

"And then what happened?" Wonka smiled a bit as he listened to the girl prattle about her time with Charlie, trying to seem more like an understanding adult figure than someone who was trying to find out just what exactly she knew. Again, he tried to convince himself that such things were his only reasoning, but all the same, he tightened his hold around her slender little waist.

She leaned over and whispered something in his ear that made his eyes grow wide.

"Oh. Hm. Interesting." He said, taking a sharp, deep, breath.

"Don't tell me you never did that as a kid," she responded with a little giggle of glee.

'Oblivious. Completely oblivious." He had, but he wanted to see where little Veruca was going to take this.

'I would show you," she said with a smirk, before moving her gaze away from his, "But you obviously don't care about me."

"Now why would you say that, Veruca?"

"Well, you haven't kissed me yet, have you?"

That was all he needed, against his moral judgment, he turned the small girl around, and allowed her to press her hot little lollipop flavoured lips to his mouth. That action alone had been enough to cause him to moan, due to the anticipation that had been built-up from watching her sucking on that lollipop and sitting on his lap.

'Veruca! Get out here now! We have to get going!" Called out that damned Mr. Salt from outside the door, causing Veruca to simply hop off of Wonka's lap, giggle, and run out to join her father.


	2. Poor Little Rich Girl

It was surprising that Veruca was allowed to return to the factory, as although now twenty, she was still very much under her father's close watch. Girls in such society were so sheltered, that if brought out into what most lower and middle class people considered to be the 'real world', then they were automatically scorned for being naïve and spoiled; basically a bad girl in a sense other than what came from partying, stealing, and so on. When poor people were 'bad', it was because of some misfortune that they had inflicted upon themselves. Rich people, however, had no chance to be 'good', much thanks to reverse discrimination.

Veruca was not an unkind girl. Yes, she had a tendency to get what she wanted, and in excess. She and her younger sister, Sandrine, often fought over the computer. So, instead of telling the girls to work it out amongst themselves; Mr.Salt returned one day from work with two iBooks and proceeded to install wireless in the house, so that his darling daughters would not squabble over the computer again. Their allowances were at the very least £200 a week each, and they dined-out so often that they were all dreadfully bored with even the finest restaurants in London.

Money or not, Veruca had only one friend: Sandrine. Sandrine was still in secondary school, so she had many friends; which meant that Veruca spent much of her time alone. She had chosen to attend a university in which she kept constantly switching her area of study. So, by the end of her sophomore year, she had a collection of random credits and a brain full of knowledge that brought her nowhere closer earning a degree. That was why, when she received the letter from Charlie, she jumped at the possibility to return to the factory.

"You need to focus on graduating from the university, not flitting around in Candy Land!" rebuttled Mr.Salt to his eldest daughter's request.

"But Daddy," Veruca whined, as such things tended to work, "I want to go. I haven't done anything fun in so long!"

"What? School is not fun? What am I spending all that money for? Are you even passing your lessons?"

"Of course I am!" She screamed, feeling tears starting to sting her blue eyes, "I am certain that even you did not enjoy your lessons all the time! Besides, being at the factory would be good business training. Sandrine gets to go play footy in France, Germany, and Sweden! I am asking to not even leave the United Kingdom!"

"And then what, Veruca? You decide to stay at the factory and work with that freakish Wonka? You need a real job."

"Oh. Like chocolate is any different than nuts," she retorted with a roll of her eyes that made her father seethe.

"Do NOT talk like that, Veruca Jayne Salt. Your great grandfather built this company from the bottom-up. You are not leaving the company you are the heiress to all because you think chocolate tastes better than nuts."

"But Daddy," her voice suddenly went soft, and that sweet and manipulative smile played upon her lips. She realised what her father was afraid of, and that meant she knew how to get to go, "Daddy. I am going for Salt's Nuts. You see, nuts and chocolates work well together. I was thinking, we could get Mr.Wonka to sign to a merger."

"No, Veruca. We say it is a merger, but really, it is a monopoly."

"That is dishonesty," said the girl matter-of-factly.

"Do you want to go to the factory or not?" he placed his hands on his daughter's shoulders, and kneeled down a bit to look her in the eye, "Do you want to go to the factory, and finally do something that would make your father very proud of you? Give him something to brag about over Christmas supper when your Uncle Geoffrey starts to brag about how much your cousin Cecile is accomplishing?"

Veruca swallowed hard. Her family was very competitive, even with one another. Ever since she was a little girl, everyone viewed Veruca as the 'odd one'. The lazy little heiress. The one who would write stories and hide in corners with her books while the rest of the family gossiped. The one who got yelled at for singing for her grandmother, because it was not normal for someone to possess such a talent. Tears fell down her cheek, and she nodded.

"Mr.Wonka!" Cried the now nineteen-year-old Charlie Bucket, as he dashed out of the small house that Wonka had built for him and his family some seven years ago, "Veruca. I just got her e-mail, and she said that she was going to come. So are Mike Teevee and Violet Beauregaurde! Augustus said he wants to come, but he has to check out his modeling schedule."

'Modeling? Augustus?" That was an odd word combination even for the eccentric chocolateer.

Charlie nodded, "Apparently he lost about twice his body weight on the Subway Diet. He's a Calvin Klein model now."

"Calvin Klein?" Wonka was not especially up on designers.  
"You know. Passion, obsession, dream, desire," he ran his fingers through his sandy hair, and gave a dramatic glance towards Wonka, "Calvin Klein."

"Here," said Wonka, walking towards the young man who was still attempting to pose like an underfed man in an undershirt and baggy jeans photographed in black and white, "Try this," he handed him a small had candy. Charlie had learned not to ask questions. So, he popped it in his mouth, causing him to go shooting backwards. Wonka laughed with glee.

"Er…alright," muttered Charlie as he forced himself to get back up, hardly noticing that he was now covered in fudge, "Mr.Wonka. Isn't that a little…dangerous to market?"

"Who said I was marketing it? I just find it funny." And with that, he twirled around so that the tails of his coat of red velvet spun with him, and started towards one of his many libraries, as he was quite the avid reader, "So. Miss Salt is returning, you say. You two have a history, no?"

That caused poor Charlie to flush a deep shade of crimson to envy that coat of Wonka's, "We were little children. It was nothing. Just experimentation and confusion."

"Not asking for the nitty-gritty, as I really do not care," he replied matter-of-factly, as he ducked into the library, where upon he pulled out a large black book entitled _The Collected Works of Vladimir Nabokov_. He opened the book, and took from it what looked like an aged piece of writing paper, and handed it to Charlie, "Give this to Miss Salt, will you?"

Charlie took the paper into his hand and just stared at it blankly before placing it in his pocket and heading out the door. Once out of view from Wonka, he took the paper and unfolded it. Mr.Wonka did not tell him not to read it, so he did:

_Wanted, wanted: Veruca Salt.  
Hair: brown. Wearing: mink coat and pink dress.  
Age: Matters not.  
Profession: none, or 'heiress" _

Where are you hiding, Veruca Salt?  
Why are you hiding , darling?  
(You invade my every thought, these visions do not halt  
My demanding little starling).

What are you wanting, Veruca Salt?  
For what is it now your little heart flutters?  
Is it a golden goose you wish for?  
Or a working squirrel that you want like no other?

Oh Veruca, the Candy Room hurts!  
Are gummies still your favourite, darlin'?  
(Yet you gravitated towards the lollipops first,  
While I sat in my corner, snarlin')

Dying, dying, Veruca Salt,  
Of regret and remorse, I'm dying.  
And again I see the garbage chute not willing to halt,  
And again I hear you crying.

Wanted, wanted: Veruca Salt  
That domineering blue gaze never flinches.  
Ninety pounds is all she weighs  
With a height of fifty-eight inches.

My candy is failing, Veruca Salt,  
The taste has faltered somehow,  
Sweetness has escaped from my heart,  
As I wonder just what exactly you want now.


	3. Annabel Lee

"This poem," Charlie had indeed decided to approach Wonka about the poem, "You loved her when she was a child."

"So did you," replied the chocolatier.

"But I was a child then too!"

"_She was a child and I was a child, in this kingdom by the sea. But we loved with a love that was more than a love, I and my Annabel Lee. _"

"Willy, this is not the time to recite Poe." It seemed to Charlie, that Wonka had grown even more odd as the years passed. A bit more dark, and a bit less sane. Then again, perhaps he was just coming to know this ageless man more. Yes, Wonka seemed so entirely ageless, that Charlie had come to believe that there was perhaps a painting hidden somewhere in the catacombs of the factory , that aged for him. While Charlie was quite handsome in himself, he lacked the beauty of Willy Wonka. Charlie Bucket was average. Willy Wonka was extraordinary.

"Actually, it is," he quipped, "You see, while _Annabel Lee_ speaks of love between two young people, Poe was in fact a good twenty something years older than the girl he was writing about."

"So you recited it to justify Veruca, then?"

"I'm sorry, Charlie, I seem to be going deaf. You must speak a little louder if you wish for me to hear you."

Charlie knew that counted as a yes, "She has probably changed a lot, Willy. You cannot love the ghost of a girl who could not have passed these seven unchanged."

"But I have not changed in seven years."

"Not in the least. But you see, " he said with a roll of his eyes, "Veruca's human."

"But I am certain she is still beautiful, intelligent, and knowing what she wants!"

"She kissed you. If you ever left the factory, you surely would have been kissed more." Charlie was far from mean, however, he sometimes felt the need to bring Wonka back to reality, or at least try to.

"But I have not. So, it is what it is."

Drawing an annoyed sigh, Charlie turned to face Wonka , placed his hands on his shoulders as to keep him in place, and and placed a strong kiss to his mouth. This action caused Wonka to jump back and fall against the wall.

"Charlie! I may be a queer man, but not in _that_ sense!"

Charlie laughed, "Neither am I. I was just proving a point."

"What sort of point could _that_ make?"

"Well, I just kissed you. You are certainly not going to go obsess over _me_ for seven years, are you?"

"Of course not! Question your sexuality, yes. But obsesses? No."

"Besides, you know I was with Veruca before."

"Must you remind me every second?"

"It was not out of love," mumbled Charlie, as he was quite certain he was treading on dangerous water with Wonka in one of his intense brooding moods, "Just two thirteen year olds experimenting. I explained this to you more than a hundred times."

Wonka took off his hat and held it to his side. The one thing that had changed about him was his hair; he had finally grown-out the bangs, and was now sporting a kind of mussed look, "I have something to do somewhere else. The others are arriving tomorrow, and I must get ready."

Avoidance was a lovely art.


	4. Pink Velvet and Gold

The old winners were to arrive in just a few hours. Of the hundreds of rooms in the factory, he had set aside rooms for each of the returning to stay in. Violet and Mike's were modest: Violet's had a large empty wall for her trophies, and Mike's had a large television with digital cable and a PS2; that should keep those two out of his perfectly moisturized hair. As for Augustus Gloop, he was not even certain if he was returning, so therefore, no room. Veruca's room, however, was a completely different story. He had chosen for the heiress, one of his own personal rooms, which meant it was three times the size of either Mike or Violet's, and adorned with anything and everything that he thought the girl would want for.

The bed was a king size, and covered in satin sheets and a comforter of pink velvet. The posts were made of solid gold and the floor had a carpeting of angora in the sleeping area, which was the bed and the bed alone with the exception of a nightstand which matched the bad frame. In another part of the room, was a vanity table already set with all the make-up and perfumes one could imagine, (knowing nothing of make-up, he simply had simply hired a personal shopper from Harrods's to make the selection based off her complexion and personality; although within just a few moments of listening to his description of her, they started to think that this little girl was not human). Beside the vanity, well, in another section, there was a soda fountain, a refrigerator, and a vending machine full of lollipops, as he knew they were a favourite of hers, (not to mention he was fond of watching her suck on them). Then there was a door leading into a luxurious bathroom with a large tub complete with air jets, many candles of different scents, (he was quite fond of aromatherapy), and so on and so forth. He just hoped this was near enough for her.

He removed his hat and flopped down upon her bed. A glove of purple latex was taken off of his left hand, so that he could feel the texture of the velvet against his skin. Tonight she would be sleeping right where he was lying at that very moment! What would she wear to sleep? A nightgown of the purest silk, as nothing else deserved to be so near to that perfect skin, right? He closed his eyes, wondering how they would speak. Would she kiss him again? Oh, if she kissed him again! Seven years of such built-up desire would only result in him taking her to this bed. Would he even end-up in here, laying next to her, kissing along her neck, caressing her cheek, feeling her soft hand against him…her touch had to be so much softer than his. How could he even begin to fathom her touch when using his hand as a substitute! Such would have to do for the moment being. Perhaps after he got her away from the crowd, he could experience _her_, as opposed to just the dream. He groaned out her name as he started to move his hand a bit faster to keep—up with his fantasy. Then, a knock on the door.

Wonka quickly fixed-up his pants and hopped off the bed, before answering the door in an annoyed manner, "Charlie! I hate you. Go away. Die."

Charlie was used to this by now, "Sorry to interrupt your pipe cleaning session."

"Pipe cleaning? I'm not even in the Chocolate room!"

"No. You know what I mean. You don't want to face Veruca all…excited to see her," Charlie had a casual air about him on such subjects, well, at least with his only friend.

"Oh," the chocolateer blushed and cleared his throat, "Let he among us without sin cast the first stone."

"Quoting the Bible? Since when were your religious?"

Wonka giggled, "I'm not. I just like that quote, and now was a good time to use it."

The two had started down the main hallway towards the front doors where the others were to be waiting.

"And that is why I'm glad we're having other people arrive. We have grown too close in these past seven years…like brothers who live together and work together and see no one else other than their family. Right down to the point of knowing one another's masturbation habits."

That caused Wonka to skid to a halt, "No. That's not normal."

"You're not normal."

"I know. But not in a weird way."

It seemed that the others had already arrived, and were waiting outside, just as they had been the first time they arrived. Only this time, it was not with parents. Violet's hair was a bit longer, and she was a bit taller, but that was pretty much the only difference when it came to her; she still had the horrific gum-chewing habit. Mike looked just as fried as ever, but he had somehow gotten back to an average height and weight, despite the being stretched, he was quite short for a boy of eighteen, only 5'4. Augustus _had_ arrived, and he had changed the most; he was, indeed, a Calvin Klein model, standing 6'3 and weighing only about 140 lbs, instead of eating a candy bar, he was reading the German edition of _Maxim_, admiring a photo of himself. And then there was Veruca. Yes, she was a bit taller, but still small; even smaller than Mike. Her figure had filled-out, but she was still clearly the same child. She wore a black and white checkered dress with a fitted bodice and flared skirt, her curly brown hair was pulled away from her face with two clips with red-jeweled hearts on them. Although twenty, she looked no older than fifteen.

'I told you she 'd be the same," Wonka murmured to Charlie.


	5. Wonka Vite

Veruca was quite certain, that aside from just the memory of 'how he lost his virginity', that Charlie had forgotten her. Well, not 'forgotten', but more 'moved on'. Of course he had moved on, everyone moved on for the most part, but they still had those few that they would drop anyone they were currently seeing for, and go with them instead. That was who Charlie was to Veruca. Once she and the other three had entered the factory and had gotten settled in, Veruca questioned herself on if she should speak to Charlie or not. However, before she got-up the gumption to set foot to his little house in the Chocolate Room, (as that was where she assumed he stayed, unknowing to the fact that he had his own wing of the factory), Charlie came to see her.

How he managed to get there before Wonka was due to the fact that Wonka seemed to have disappeared somewhere between the greeting and the partial tour. There were so many rooms in the factory, that Charlie had learned it was pretty useless to search for a man who just vanished and therefore was probably hiding in a room that he would never find. He was quite glad to have that time alone, though, as he wished to visit Veruca for reasons other than delivering the poem he had no plan of giving to her.

"Of all the things in the world, it was the Golden Ticket that brought you the most happiness. Your father never liked Wonka, but he was your idol. But liking him or not, your father still respected him as an entrepreneur…." Charlie leaned against the door –jam of her room, just smiling at her.

"Charlie!" She stood-up from where she had been sitting and trying-out the make-up at her vanity table, and walked over to him.

"…The other children got harsh punishments that nearly killed them, but you just got a trip down a slide. But you never did get that squirrel"

"And you won the factory, which was all fair, as I already had one of my own, and you really needed a decent place to live. But I still wanted that glass elevator."

Charlie grinned, "Everyone does. It goes places one can't even begin to fathom. If there's one thing I've learned after living with Willy Wonka for seven years; it's to never doubt anything, even what seems beyond impossible."

"I sometimes don't think he's even human. He hasn't changed one bit. My father maintains that he must be older than he appears."

"The factory opened twenty-two years ago. And Grandpa Joe knew him back when he started his business twenty-seven years ago. He doesn't look any older than mid-thirties, but he must at least be in his late forties, early fifties by now."

Veruca had known Wonka's factory to be open for quite some while, but she figured perhaps it had been a business handed down from his father or whatnot. She never knew that he had done it all himself; just expanded upon it, "You mean this is all his?"

Charlie nodded, "No one else but him. His father is a dentist. I think he takes Wonka-Vite to remain young. One dose, and it makes you twenty years younger."

Veruca's eyes widened, "He created an age reversal

elixir? Why hasn't he marketed it? No one has ever created such a thing before, and immortality is what most people strive for!"

"I really don't know. I guess there's something not right about it yet. I've never met such a perfectionist in my life," he dug his hands in the pockets of his dark blue blazer and leaned back against the wall. His fingers wrapped around the poem, and then he quickly drew his hand away, as if it the paper had been on fire to the touch.

Veruca walked over to where Charlie was, and placed her delicate hand upon his arm, "Then you have never seen me at work. I am far too demanding. You know, Charlie, I am happy to see you again, and actually rather surprised that you remember me."

"How would I forget?" he asked, almost placing his hand on hers', but then decided against it for no other reason than imagining what Wonka's reaction would be. He tended to exagerate upon everything to such extent, that if Charlie as much as touched her hand, Wonka would take it as him being in love with her; rather than just being friendly with someone from his childhood.

"People tend to forget things a lot, especially like that," she stepped away and sat back down at her vanity table, "We should do tea tomorrow."

He smiled and ran his fingers through his hair, "Yeah. Tea sounds great. So, here, tomorrow at four?"

Veruca nodded, "I'll be waiting."

As he was making his way back to his wing of the factory, Charlie nearly collided with a girl. No, it was not Violet or Veruca, (as one would assume, seeing how they were the only two girls that were supposed to be there), but instead someone else of around the same age, who seemed rather ragged in appearance. Although dressed in less than stately clothing, she was still of an exquisite beauty, looking to be perhaps part Japanese, judging by the silky black of her hair, and almond shaped eyes of a pale mint green.

"I'm sorry, Miss, but I do not think you are supposed to be here," Charlie muttered, stepping back from the young woman, "Unless you are one on Mr.Wonka's new workers, which I highly doubt."

"Oh no, I am not supposed to be here. I am an orphan, and I was very cold, so I came to the factory because I know you have food, and I am quite hungry. A little man, too small to be a midget, let me in."

Charlie scowled, "That would be an Oompa Loompa. I fear they've been rather disagreeable as of late. You can stay the night, and perhaps be set to work in the morning. That seems fair."

She threw her arms around Charlie, "Oh thank you, Mr…"

Charlie stepped away in a bit of disgust, as she was in dyer need of a bath, "Bucket. Mr.Bucket."

She giggled, "Well, Mr.Bucket, is there a first name with that?"

"Nope!" It seemed he had been hanging around Wonka for seven years too many.

"My name is Mayrie Susan Leigh. You can call me 'May' ," She grinned, "Thank you so much, Mr.Bucket, for letting me stay. You see, ever since my parents parished in a horrible fire when I was eight, I have lived in a horrible orphanage up the way where they made us work for hours on end with meager bits of food as payment. Our nights were freezing in the winter and burning in the summer. I came of age two weeks ago, and therefore was set-out on my own. I have lived on the streets since."

"I'm sorry. Aren't there shelters, or something, that could have helped you, though?" Charlie asked as he sorted through the large key ring in order find the key to the room she was to sleep in. He had decided to give her a very plain white room used for storage, with a blanket, cot, and pillow; as he was not sure if she had lice, and did not want to hear it if bugs were found crawling around one of Wonka's precious beds.

"Not that I know of," she drew a deep breath, examining Charlie closely from her little spot leaning against the wall, trying to figure out what he was doing with those keys, "I remember you. I was actually waiting in line right behind you at the drug store the day that you found the Golden Ticket. If I had just arrived a few second earlier, then the ticket would have been mine."

That caused Charlie to stop and think for a moment. What if this girl had gotten the ticket instead of him? Would she have won the factory? For some reason, he did not think that so. After all, Wonka had wished for a companion and brother to share the factory with. If Charlie had not been there, then surely he would have chosen Veruca, but he would have kept her as a bride as opposed to an heir. May was not the type that Wonka would go for; he needed someone who was delicate and demure. Someone who did not settle for second best. Not some rag muffin that he could never relate to. Charlie, like Wonka, was eager and honest. He was a good friend, (well, aside from how guilty he felt for not giving Veruca the poem). He finally found the correct key, and unlocked the door.

"Well, " he said, "This is where you will be staying."

May stepped into her room, and turned around to face him, "You know, I think I really should have won the ticket. I mean, yes, you were poor, but at least you have a family that loves you. If I had gotten the Golden Ticket instead of you, then Wona would have taken me under his wing like a daughter, and I would have a happy family at last."

"You really don't know Wonka," he said, shutting the door so that he would not have to put-up with her any more than he already had.


	6. Pure Imagination

After Charlie had left, Veruca got out of her dress, and into her nightgown of pink silk. She then made her way over to the exquisite bed that Wonka had set-up for her. It seemed that sleep would come easily to her that night, as she had be forced to awaken early in order to get to the factory on time. Being the busybody insomniac that she was, it was very rare for her to actually be tired enough to go to sleep at a decent hour. She picked-up the book she was reading, a Lewis Carroll collection, but then found herself drifting off to sleep, so she dropped her book to the side, before sinking back into the down pillows. And then, the door opened.

The girl sat-up with a start, as the last thing she had expected was for her door, which was locked, to come flying open. At first, she did not see anyone there, but simply an elegant silhouette of a tall man in top hat and a decorative walking cane.

"Mr.Wonka," she mumbled, still rather tired, "What are you doing in here at this hour?" She pulled the blanket up past her breasts, as she knew her nightgown did not leave much to the imagination.

"Oh? Oh dear…this is not the Invention Room," yet he spoke in such a style that proved that he had found the very place he had wished to enter. He remained at the door-jam, the moonlight causing an eerie ghost-like glow to dance off of him.

"How do you not know your own factory by now?" She did not mind that he was there, but something about his presence caused her to feel uneasy. Well, uneasy in a way that she either wished to run as far away from him as possible, or take his hand just to assure herself that he was, in fact, real. She knew he was real, of course, as she had kissed him once a long while ago, and it is common knowledge that one cannot kiss a person who is not real. He was as 'real' as she was unless she was Schizophrenic, which was not the case. She remembered having read-up on Schizophrenia and learning that it caused people to see and interact with beings who were not really there. One of the telltale signs that they person who they were speaking to was fake, was that they never changed. Wonka was the same as he had ever been. But then again, other people knew Wonka and he made chocolate. Unless those people were fake as well, but she had attended the factory with her father, and without her father she could no possibly exist. What it she didn't exist? But she knew she existed, and as Descartes had concluded in such questioning: _ I think, therefore I am _ . Thus, she existed and so did Mr.Wonka. (Mind you, although not related to anything that was happening in the room at the moment, such thoughts were very common to Miss Veruca Salt, and were questioned, worked-through, and resolved within less than a minute's time).

"And how do you know I meant what I said?" He retorted with a sly smirk as he made his way slowly over to the bed where the girl was still huddled. As he approached, she got out of the bed, turned her back to him so that he could not see more than she wished for him to, and put on her bathrobe of white silk.

"I knew you did not. But then why did you bother saying it in the first place?"

"Veruca, you will come to learn that most people do not mean what they say. Why, if we all said what we meant, then we would be friendless, rejected, and possibly facing jail-time."

"I think that it a little silly," she walked over to her vanity table and sat down, mostly so that she could speak to him through his reflection as opposed to looking him in the eye.

" _ A little silly_? Say exactly what you are thinking, and such will prove that my theory is correct."

Veruca took a deep breath, "I think you are mad. I am also rather creeped-out by how you just came in here. You are a curious man, Mr.Wonka. Rather frightening, but curious."

He smiled in a way that caused a cold jolt to run down the young girl's spine, "You see. I am correct."

"Yes, but you are also a hypocrite. You surely are not saying exactly what is on your min," No that she had much a desire to know. Actually, strike that. She did. She wanted to know, but would not even admit such a thing to herself.

"That is because if I were to say what I was thinking, you would…I will actually not progress with that thought, as then you will argue it," Or yell at him, as he had spent the past several minutes allowing his eyes to moved over every curve of her body, slowing adjusting to the woman she had become. For such a skinny child as she had been, Veruca had filled-out very nicely, Of course, Wonka had never paid any mind to the figure of a woman before, (well, he had a few times, but never to the extent that he cared for detail), but to him, she was the example of what a woman should be. She had soft curves while still maintaining a childish look. She was purely ethereal; much likes a Pre-Raphaelite painting. Girls like her no longer existed, except in the case of Veruca.

"I most likely would," she responded rather honestly. Why was he in there, anyway? It seemed rather curious to her, but she did not mind. Yes, he was a bit frightening, but he was also entrancing. In the sallow light of the moon and the dimming candle upon her nightstand, his skin looked almost luminescent, "Did you come in here just to sit on my bed, or was there a reason?"

He stood-up and walked slowly over to her, placing a cold hand upon her bare shoulder. His hand was so cold to the touch, and so smooth, that he felt much like an embalmed corpse. Perhaps that was why he always wore gloves. But not now, no. Instead, it seemed as if through that touch, he was trying to let Veruca in on a secret.

"My dear girl," he whispered so lightly that it sounded more like a hiss, "I just wish to help you understand how my factory works."

"But why so late?" She arched her neck back as to try and get his frigid hand off of her.

"Because at this hour of the night, most the world is asleep. And when most the world is asleep, the din of their thoughts are entrapped within their dreams."

Veruca gazed-up at him for a moment, as if trying to take in what he had just said, "But what does that have to do with your factory?"

"Everything here is the result of uninhibited thoughts. We have all learned to suppress thoughts of things that seem impractical to most. When people find themselves thinking things beyond comprehension, then they consider themselves 'mad'," he gripped onto her wrist as to guide her along with him out of the room.

She followed in suit, not knowing why she had chosen to do so. However, she felt almost as in a trance, perhaps because she was lacking sleep, perhaps because he held an odd sort of power over her. Either way, she followed him into the Chocolate Room which, when not lit, looked more like a haunted forest.

"Look at this, Veruca. It is an entire room made of candy. An oasis of imagination come to life."

Veruca nodded, 'I know, Mr.Wonka. We came in here during the Golden Ticket tour."

"But you see, you were still young enough to appreciate it then," he gripped onto her wrist a bit tighter, as if claiming her by keeping her there.

"I appreciate it now. It is very beautiful and…"

"That is topical, my dear child. This is proof that if one truly wants something, then they can make it happen by imagining it. I dreamt this room up. I dreamt this factory up. I dreamt my fate up…and here it is right here before you," He let go of her wrist, but only to bring his hands up to cup her face, "The problem with people is that they listen to people."

She closed her eyes as those freezing hands touched her face; she was frightened, but eerily calm, "And I am…?" She was just wondering why he was telling her all of this. After all, it was not the type of thing that one person told another, or even said to themselves. Then again, this Willy Wonka, so Veruca realised she had to expect the unexpected.

"You are skeptic, but here is proof, here in this room, here in this factory, here in me," he leaned down in order to rest his forehead against hers.

"I do not know what you are talking about," she stepped away from him, but in her attempt to move, he grabbed back onto her wrists. She stopped trying to move back, as she knew that it would only cause more problems if tried to. That, and she was intrigued. There was no possible way his intentions could have been pure; Veruca may have been sheltered, but she was always on her guard.

"You want everything, and you can get it so long as you imagine it. Everything, Veruca. I wanted everything, and I made getting what I wanted possible, and now I have almost everything I have ever wanted, by simply wishing it upon myself. Anything you want, Veruca. _ Anything _ ."

She moved backwards a bit, "I want to get back to bed."

He let go of her hands, and just smiled, "Alright. Go back to bed, dear child. But let me take you back in my yacht. You remember my yacht, don't you? I made it from a hollowed-out candy. Remember, you wanted one just like it?"

Veruca nodded, "Yes. Yes. I remember," Oddly enough, those words soothed any fear she had, 'Just this time, please do not show the movie."

Needless to say, no one else in the factory would see Veruca for four days.


End file.
